They Shaved It Off
by The Readers Muse
Summary: "They shaved it off." He muttered, apparently in way of a compliant. Making a noise oddly reminiscent of a sodden, rain soaked kitten asking to be let in from the rain, as a distressed sounding mewl left his lips as his fingers encountered smooth skin."


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hott Fuzz or any of its characters. (Wishful thinking aside) I would however be perfectly open to time sharing the Andies, just putting that out there..

**Warnings:** Language, (dur) and what I fear is going to be a pretty bad attempt at British slang. In addition, this is an Andy/Andy ficlet_. Therefore, there be slashy goodness ahoy_. Count yourself as forewarned. There is nothing too explicit, just the boys being all indignant, a little bit whumped, rumpled, confused, and generally awesome. Basically this is some fluffy, feel good smut that resulted after watching Hot Fuzz far too many times and getting more excited then I probably rightly should over the Andies interactions, scenes, banter, and etc throughout the film.

**Authors Note **: In the scene right after the explosion at the Sandford station house, in between Nicholas calling for Danny, you hear a voice yelling: "Andy!" I took this as one of the 'Andes' calling for the other. Right after this voice, in the VERY unclear distance, in the backdrop of Nicholas and Danny you see two figures getting to their feet together (close together like whoa). At first I figured it might actually be the 'Andes', however then why would one of them be loudly yelling for the other? Really those two figures could have just as easily been the Turner twins. So, I chose to view it that way. Essentially this ficlet shows my take on what happened between our two favourite Detectives right after the explosion.

**Authors Note #2:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. This is my first Hot Fuzz story so I am especially looking for feedback. This is basically the ficlet that ATE my entire life for almost a week and a half. It was one of those plot bunnies that nibbled and ate away at my brain until I gave in and finally wrote it. I believe to date, this is my longest one-shot EVER. So yeah, reviews are cuddled and peppered with love.

**They Shaved It Off**

He felt like all kinds of a ruddy cunt, sitting uselessly in the stupid, neon orange visitor's chair that he had had to drag clear across the room so he could keep a close eye on Andy. He himself had barely a scratch on him save for a bruised rib or two, not enough to keep him pinned down for long that's for sure.

Hell, he would have even wagered that if the whole incident had been a bit less serious, that he would have been off and down at the pub at his usual time…you know if the pub _wasn't _shot through with bullet holes and the bar splattered with Roy's blood. How the man survived a bear trap to the neck he would never know, and at this point, considering everything that had happened, despite the man being the one who had poured him his very first pint at the tender age of fourteen, and had pour nearly every one since, he didn't much give two shits and an arse either.

They had just gotten word that Danny was out of surgery and looking for all the doctors could tell as being well on the mend. And pretty soon after that the others had started to trickle in and out between both the hospital rooms, their voices hushed and muted, avoiding eye contact with him and the pale looking, fawn haired man, as if afraid they might jinx him, their eyes flickering worriedly over the prone man, though they tended to linger longer over the swath of bandages that nearly obscured the left side of the mans face, fussing and whispering as they tiptoed around the room.

Deep down he knew they meant well, but really all he wanted to do was scream at them and break shit.

The man wasn't dead for christ sakes! He had a bleeding concussion; the explosion had just knocked him unconscious is all! Other then that, it was only really the left side of his face that was hurt, the skin gashed open by a soddin' brick or somemat' during the explosion. It was a bloody flesh wound at best! Granted it had bled like a fuckin' stuck pig, but that wasn't the point!

The point was that he was going to be fine! The doctors had _said_ he was going to be fine. He was going to be fine. _He had to be_.

Fucking NWA. Fucking Frank. Fucking sea mine. Fucking Andy…

Before this point, coming fast on six hours ago now, his ears still ringin' and eyes still blown just as titch too wide to be classified as normal, not yet having come down from the adrenaline high, he had never given more then a passing thought to…well to _not_ having Andy in his life. Balls and cocks! He hardly remembered what life had been like before he had met Andy, though he wasn't too fussed about it as he had likely only been about 8 years old around the time.

He hadn't even considered it as an option, they were partners and best friends, they ate together, worked together, skirt chased together, and drank together. They were just always _together; it was like one of the only constant, permanent things that existed in the world that one could actually still count on._

And from the moment they had first met, coming across each other one rare summers day along a winding back country deer trail that led to his favourite little swimming pond not long after Andy's family had moved into the farmstead two properties down from his, there had always been that.._spark_, that connection.. the kind of feeling that just explodes into being out of nothingness, and has the potential to last a life time. And since that unseasonably hot day they had spent together, pushing each other off the muddy pond banks and into the water, and swinging each other far too high on the decrepit, decade old rope swing before letting go and somersaulting into the water, they had been absolutely inseparable.

It wasn't like any of that weird twin connection shit like the Turners had, but you know, he just _knew _things, just as Andy _knew_ things about him. Like for example, he knew without any outward indication from Andy, when the man was upset, frustrated, or angry, or even which bird the man would inevitably fancy in the pub on whatever night they were out trolling for a good lay.

So, in a way, he wasn't exactly too surprised to realize that when he picked himself out from underneath a section of the table blown up table, surrounded by mounds of blown up brick, twisted metal, and shattered glass that he just…_known _that something was wrong. You know…_besides _the fact that what felt like the entire world had just been blown all to hell, with bits of the sky still falling around them, Danny with a gut fill of shot and Nicholas finally showing some emotion other then acting like he had a Titanic-sized stick shoved up his arse.

_Stubborn ponce. _

A moment, he later noted, that he had been unable to properly enjoy as well, because Angel had just sounded…broken, _broken!_ This coming from a man who had initially taken on the entire town Sandford all by himself for fucks sakes! A man who had stormed into the station with balls of brass and had damn near cleaned out the entire evidence room, decked out like he was going to war as he swung atop one of Mr. Reaper's prize winning horses before setting out to serve justice left, right and bloody center, but who had nearly crumbled and lost it as he had scrambled his way over to Danny through the unsteady hills of broken brick and choking dust, his voice cracking and anguished as he threw himself at the bigger man, begging him to hold on.

So yeah, he has just.._known_…he didn't really know how to explain it, and nor did he entirely want to either. But he had just known. Something wasn't right…

_Something was wrong with Andy._

Andy had been sitting right beside him when it had happened, both of them still cracking up about the flying rubbish bin seconds before crazy old Tom Weaver had pulled the trigger. Hell, they had been sitting so close together that he had felt the man suddenly stiffen, the tiny, minuscule movement causing ripples of sensation to shiver up his skin as the man caught sight of Weaver a few seconds for he had.

So while Nicholas had screamed for Danny, he had yelled for Andy. His voice nearly swallowed in the eerie, blanketing silence of fluttering papers, the shifting of broken bits of brick and metal, and the shaky, hacking coughs of the others as they tried to regain themselves after their world had abruptly gone pear shaped for the second time in only a day.

Even for Sandford, with their high 'accident' rate and tosh..this _had_ to make some sort of record.

He could hardly hear save for the ringing in his ears, eardrums overloaded with the percussive, roiling boom of the explosion, a sound that had somehow compounded upon itself as it had exploded up and outwards, turning into a screeching cacophony of screaming metal, splintering wood, and abruptly cut off cries. But despite the pressing deafness, he could still hear the strangest things, like the high pitched yip of Saxon's distressed bark, the sound making him hope to god that Bob was okay because he sure as hell couldn't see anything admits the clouds of dust and ash. He could hear Tony's distressed stutter somewhere downwind of him, his voice hesitant as he began calling out everyone's names, as if he were half afraid that he wouldn't get a response back from everyone. He had even heard Doris's pained groan from somewhere off to his right, the little brown haired spitfire cursing up a blue streak as she disentangled herself from the remains of what looked suspiciously like Frank's old lacquered wooden desk.

'_Atta girl Doris, 'atta girl._

He picked himself up with more difficultly then he would have readily admitted to, his ribs throbbing as he twisted out from underneath a section of the massive meeting table, hauling himself up with only a viciously cut off groan.

Taking a quick second to restock, making sure all limbs and body parts were safe, attached, and accounted for, he wiped his face free of the grainy, stinging bits of brick and dust, tossing his ruined aviators away to one side with a disbelieving snort, one of the lens busted clear out, the frames battered and warped beyond repair, as though they had been sat on at a funny angle.

It had been then, as the frames had clattered to a noisy halt amidst the strange, jagged mountains of broken brick and scrap metal that the feeling truly began to set in.. When he didn't even have to look beside him to know that Andy wasn't there, wasn't right at his side as he always was, he wasn't where he had been a few moments ago…

He had never had a mere few minutes feel like hours before, he wasn't some daft drama queen that laced his talk with frilly, arsed up words or anything like that.. but in this case, he could think of no other way to describe those few, strangely long moments where just for a moment, he was sure that his heart might have stopped beating.

And then, quite suddenly, just as he had felt his chest seize up a pain that seemed all too chillingly similar to that of the time where he had almost cried in 7th grade when Big Rodney Aspen from Beaufort Abbey had sucker punched him in the gut during a school football match, ignoring the whistling blowing referee entirely as he maliciously aimed his massive, boat-sized cleat for a nasty kick in his ribs right as Andy, all freckles, straw and ginger coloured hair, and just little spit fucker of a bean pole that barely topped five feet tall had rammed into the asshole from behind, leaping onto him like he was bull riding at his farm and boxing the yeti's ears in retaliation, that quite suddenly, and altogether abruptly, found him.

He had been wedged underneath a set of record drawers, his body half buried under a small pile of splintered wood and brick, the uniform and even the stab vest he had been wearing was shredded and torn, the buckles blown clear off one side, making the heavy vest angle strangely across his prone form. His blue eyes were closed, and already puffing out in what was going to eventually be a wicked pair of black eyes, his hair wet with blood and already caked a sooty grey from the ash and dust. And worse still, his face was smeared, streaming mess of crimson, soot, and brick chalk as the blood gushed slowly from a wide, deep looking cut that spanned nearly the entire length of the mans left cheek.

At first he hadn't been able to process it, swearing to god that for a moment, his heart might have skipped a few horrified beats at the sheer sight of him. Leaving him caught in between a strange mix of elation and distress. And he couldn't get over the fact that some how it all looked fake, unreal, like how he had looked when he had finally had a spare moment to look at himself in the mirror and properly wipe up the thick red pasta sauce from all over his face and neck only a few hours previous.

On Andy..the blood just looked wrong..like it wasn't him. Like it was someone else who was leaking what damn near looked like a soddin' _quart_ of blood all over the cracked brick and wooden beams. Like it really wasn't Andy who was lying there, broken, cut up and bleeding among the rubble.

And for one simple, strange moment of absolute and total clarity, he knew that right then he would have done _anything _just to be able to trade places with him..

But then, before he had a chance to loose it completely, the Turner twins suddenly appeared, emerging from the raining clouds of dust and god knows what else, looking remarkably normal and untouched, flanking him as they worked as one, tipping the file drawers off the man, at the same moment he flung himself into the rumble in front of him, cursing as he dug the man out from the chalky brick, metal, and wood with his bare hands. The twins, to their credit not saying a word as he visibly crumpled in on himself, grasping Andy's dirty, cut up hand far too tightly in his own as he yelled rather uselessly for a doctor.

Not knowing what else to do, he did the only thing he could think of, he tore off his stab vest, ripping off his white collared shirt with it as he found the gash on his face and pressed down on it, trying to staunch the worst of the flow as best he could. His voice wobbly and strange sounding even to his own ears as he yelled for the man to wake up, wanting just one word, anything.. just something to tell him that he was going to be alright.

By the time the paramedics arrived, his shirt was tie-dyed a startling crimson, and his arms were smeared halfway up to the elbows in the Andy's blood. He didn't really remember much about how they had gotten from the rubble to the hospital, having been too concerned with keeping an eye out for Andy, keeping a firm grasp on his hand, and making sure that none of them city folks pulled any messed up shit. They already had one tightly wound, arse hole from London thank you very much! They didn't need 'em lobbing off another few at them! _Plonkers._

And now he was in the hospital, he was tired, dirty, beaten to hell, and in such a desperate need for a drag that his hands were nearly starting to shake, but he found that he couldn't do much more then retreat as far as to take a piss the tiny little rest room across the room, unwilling to leave lest Andy finally get his marbles back in proper order and wake the fuck up.

The doctors didn't seem too fussed, saying it was hard to tell just how hard he had been rattled around until the bugger actually decided to wake up, they said typically that it wouldn't take too wouldn't be long as he had no internal injuries or any of that shit

He'd lost a fair bit of blood, but it wasn't nothin' that couldn't be put right with a transfusion. Besides, the hospital staff was overwhelmingly encouraging about Andy's prognosis, one of the nurses had even brought him a cup of lemon pudding, saying he shouldn't look so worried.

He didn't know what she was going on about. He wasn't _that_ worried. _Daft old bird._

He hadn't been able to eat the pudding. She hadn't brought a second one for Andy. The man would raise bloody hell if he woke up and saw him eating pudding without one for him. Andy loved pudding, especially lemon pudding.

_When the bloody idiot woke up he was going to kill him._

And ironically, just because the man was out to give him a complex, the stupid git choose that exact moment to do just that. _Typical._

He had been looking down at him worriedly, the lack of activity outside the door finally making him feel as though he could relax the slightest of bits, his head suddenly hanging heavily in between his shoulders as he let one hand curl around the cool metal of the bed railing, leaning into it the slightest of bits, letting his eyes travel up the mans still form, the bland, off white hospital gown white-washing the mans fair skin, making him seem somehow smaller..dwarfed amidst the confines of the tightly tucked hospital covers and the strategically placed pillows, until, quite suddenly, just as his eyes trailed up to his face, the mans eyes had fluttered, once, and then twice before they had opened completely and fixed right upon him, a tiny smile twitching to life on his lips. Scratched, bruised, cut, and as torn up as hell and the man was still smiling up at him!

He had dropped the pudding all over the floor.

And before his brain had fully processed the movement he was suddenly hovering right over him, leaning down close enough so that he could feel the mans slow, but steady breaths against his cheek as he gently captured the mans hand in his, smiling unrestrainedly as the man had squeezed it reassuringly, moving his head experimentally to look at him properly through his swollen face as he made to try and speak, his lips starting to form the words of his name, the first to grace his lips since the explosion. And inexplicably, from that sight alone, he felt his eyes start to sting, smelling the traitorous, salty scent of a few unshed tears as they flooded his sinuses.

But the man must have been hooked up to some sort of arsed up machine because soon after that, a pile of doctors and nurses came rushing into the room, descending on Andy from all sides and shooing him out and off to the sidelines right before Andy went and made an arse of himself again and fell right back asleep.

And he swore, as he leaned up against the wall opposite Andy's bed, that his ears were still ringing from the indignant, and vastly annoyed shrieks from the crowd of nurses as the man's eyes slipped closed, already too far in the tenacious clutches of the traveling Sandman before they could even stick him up with the first of what looked like a vast array of very intimidating looking needles.

That was around the time that Doris found him. Clucking like a brooding mother hen, as she shepherded him straight out the door before he had even fully realized he was away from the wall and moving.

"Oy you! Alright now, you stayed with him till he woke up, now go off and have a puff before you fall over, I'll sit 'wit 'im." She insisted sternly, propelling him through the door before he had a chance to recover his wits. Momentarily torn he remained half in the door frame, looking from the man on the bed to the bustling hallway beyond; he really _did_ need a fag.

"Go! You stupid tosser! I'll holler if he wakes up." She insisted, still so encrusted in dust and brick chalk that her every movement caused a little poof of dust to puff into the air, her hair turned a premature grey with all the ash and junk from the explosion, but somehow still sporting an expression as serious and determined as the one the particularly intimidating duty nurse stationed outside was currently wearing as she ushered him out into the hallway, her voice taking on an unaccustomedly no nonsense tone that had him all but edging towards out the door in his haste to obey. Women could be damn near scary sometimes.

_The lady really did have a point though._

Zigzagging through the busy emergency ward, he kept his head held high and his face firm and steady, ignoring the sharp, steady throbbing in his ribs as a gurney bearing Simon Skinner was wheeled briskly passed him in the narrow hallway, the man somehow still managing to glare and curse liquidly at him despite the wooden spike still lodged through his jaw. He made a point to flip him the bird on sheer principal the moment the grim looking constable guarding him turned his back.

_Asshole._

On his way out he took a detour down a jumbled maze of halls to the door where they were setting Danny up after the surgery. Nodding at the Turner twins who were on their way out as he entered the room, making noises about getting coffee for everyone, while Owen was making vague indications of stopping by the remains of the station house to search for his novel, as they left him alone with a bunch of nurses, Danny, Angel, and Tony. Turner himself, while not seriously hurt, was already hip deep in trying to juggle his concerned, but still overly affectionate wife as well as two out of their five children as his own retinue of nurses patched him up on the bed opposite Danny's, the Sergeant clearly still in 'supercop' mode and hopped up on adrenaline to boot as he juggled answering two cell phones, one with Scotland yard on the line, while in the other ear he had London's chief defence department. As far as he could tell the man was enjoying every single minute of it, mouth moving a virtual mile a minute as he relayed information, took and gave out orders, and answered daft little questions about what brand of cereal he had taken that morning, and why a 'possibly live' sea mine had been secured in the evidence lock up in a tiny little village that was over three hundred miles at the very least from the ocean.

'_Soddin' Scotland yard'_ He thought with a snort, always stickin' their noses in where they didn't belong!

Danny was already sleeping, snoring softly as he slept the deep, morphine induced sleep of the wounded, a gaggle of nurses already fawning over him, fiddling with various bits of equipment and read outs as Angel looked on, sitting in one of the same hideous orange chairs that he had been in earlier, face once again stoic and steady, finally tolerating the attentions of a few nurses as they busily stitched up a few of the deeper cuts on his arm, gently cleaning his scratched up face as they worked.

In fact, if he hadn't known any better he would have almost said that he man was back to his old twat-like, prim and proper Police officer self.. but it was the mans eyes that gave him away. He was tired, worried, and just as shell shocked as the lot of them.

"He alright then?" He finally asked, aiming for casual as he strolled into the room, one hand shoved into his trouser pocket as he let his stab vest hang to one side, half buckled off his right shoulder.

The man must have been more out of it then he had initially realized however as he startled slightly, obviously not having registered his presence in the room, the sudden movement earning them both a disapproving glare from both the nurse and orderly attending to Angel's stitches, the needle-wielding nurse managing to jump clear of the man's jerking arm just in time to avoid stabling him with the sewing needle.

"What? Oh yes… The doctors said he will be fine. _Just fine_. The first surgery went as well as it could, and they think they got out all the buckshot. They will know more tomorrow when they have another look." He responded after a moment or two of collecting himself, clearing his throat slightly as he turned his head to face him, attempting not to jostle the nurses working on him any more then he could help.

"What about Detective Cartwright?" He asked after a beat, his eyes straying from his face and out into the hallway beyond as though he could somehow will the other man to simply appear in the doorway to tell him properly himself.

"The doctor told me he just woke up and is responding well." The dirty, blond haired man continued finally, inclining his head in thanks as the nurses finished up and left, no doubt to go prod some else with sharp objects and drown them in bandages.

"Eh, just fine." He replied quickly. "He woke up, made all the doctors happy, and then the tosser went and fell right back asleep again, nearly sent the nurses into conniptions. Doris is with 'im right now, I gotta kip out for a quick smoke." He said in way of closing, give him a nod and strict instructions to tell Danny that he still owed him twenty quid when he woke up, something that earned him a small smile from the blond hair man as he swivelled on his heel and made tracks for the nearest exit, fingers already patting at his trouser pockets in anticipation, pulling out a rather squashed box of JB Blues and his zippo lighter.

He was back inside in less then two much needed smokes, his steps hurried and quick as he moved through the halls, alerted by a quick call from Doris saying that Andy was awake once agan.

But when he final appeared at the door, he nearly tripped over his own boots, walking in on what had to be the weirdest, and most distressing sight since Andy had found him arse over tit, snoring and as naked as a new born in Mr. Staker's goose pen ten years ago on New Years Day after nearly a day long celebratory bender at the clubs in Beaufort Abby, and eventually the Crown back in Sandford. He never did figure out what happened to his clothes or exactly how he got from the pub to Staker's castle museum in the first place, but he had a sneaking suspicion it been because of the tossin' radiator hooch they served up in the bars in Beaufort Abbey, wanking willys, the lot of 'em! At any rate, Andy had never let him forget it anyway!

In the space of time that he had taken him to flip off Skinner, check in on the others, and have a few smokes in between calling both their folks to assure them that yes, they _had_ heard about the shooting in town, and yes, they _had_ been part of it, and that _no_ they hadn't blown up the station house as a prank, and that yes, they were _fine_, and no, neither of them needed them to come down from the farms and visit them, they were _grown men_ thank you very much, and yes, he would call back in a few hours to check in, the doctors and nurses had once again descended on Andy and had redressed and taken care of his facial wounds properly, now no longer as concerned about head trauma, and thus in doing so, had apparently declared _war_ on all known forms of upper lip hair.

_They had gone and done away with Andy's moustache!_

_Incredible! He was gone not a half of a flippin' hour and this happened._ And call him paranoid but he half expected that they had waited until he had left the room before doing it.. _on purpose.._

He couldn't help the slightly strangled noise of surprise that left his lips, the sound making the crowd of nurses and orderlies part, and then abruptly, but quite wisely dissipate off to the sides and out of the room as they secured the last bit of medical tape around the man's jaw and cheek, their eyes appropriately downcast and sheepish as they skirted around him and out the door, leaving the two of them alone in the room.

They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment, the man still obviously quite out of it, and now attempting to adjust not only to the sudden lack of a moustache, but the fact that his new bandage entirely obscured his left eye, the bandage being slightly over-sized in order to best cover the cut and keep all the ointment and shit they had applied to it pressed entirely over the wound.

The injured man was the first to break the silence, his head cocked at a strange angle in order to properly see him with his one uncovered eye, the blue shade of it seeming strangely bright, emphasised next to the swath of pristine white bandages. Though, when he later thought about it however, he realized that could have just as easily been because of the pain killers, as moustache destroying aside, if there was one thing to be said about the trauma nurses, it was that they certainly didn't skimp on his meds, that's for damn sure.

"They shaved it off." He muttered unnecessarily, apparently in way of a compliant as he brushed a bruised, and slightly scratched palm along the newly sheared skin, his cut fingers tugging at his upper lip, his voice slightly morose sounding, his tone most definitely that of someone who was feeling _very _sorry for themselves, uttering a tiny, barely audible distressed mewl of a sound as his fingers encountered smooth skin, the noise oddly reminiscent of a sodden, rain soaked kitten asking to be let in from the rain.

_Not that he blamed him, obviously. Stuck in a hospital, cut up from a fiery sea mine induced explosion was one thing, but to mess with a man's moustache was an ENTIRELY different manner._

"I can see that." He remarked slightly unnecessarily, finding himself at a bit of a loss for what to say. But Andy didn't seem to notice much, just sending him a roll of his good eye, and an aborted attempt at shrugging his shoulders, before his muscles obviously protested, causing him to slump abruptly instead.

"The stupid bloke told me I gotta' keep it smooth as a baby's bottom till the scratch 'eals." He continued, gesturing over at the scrub-clothed doctor who was standing just outside of the door with a couple of the nurses, likely plotting on how to best rid some other poor, unsuspecting fellow of their moustache as well.

Choosing not to address a subject that was obviously painful, and in an attempt to tear his own eyes away from the now smooth, and hairless section of his best friend's upper lip, he skirted around the issue entirely.

"Eh, mate that 'aint a scratch, that's gonna scar up all right and proper that one is." He replied, dragging the stupid orange chair back near the side of the bed and plopping down on it unceremoniously, pointedly ignoring the indignant shriek of the shoddy metal work as he wiggled around, trying to find a position that didn't irritate his ribs.

"You reckon?" Andy remarked almost hopefully, his hand automatically going up to fiddle with a stray edge of the bandage, entirely ignoring the disapproving cluck from one of the nurses who was still idling around outside the door.

Indeed the man seemed unordinary excited about the idea, except that he choose that very moment to go and make an arse out of himself and drift back asleep again. The duty nurse nearly had kittens right there on the hospital floor

He got shooed out not long after that, shoved unceremoniously out the door with a stupid little bottle of pain killers for his jostled ribs, and an admittedly serious sounding threat from the nurse to get some sleep and not come back until he did.

So as he drove home he decided that the next day he would arrive an hour before visitors hours started just to make a point. Unfortunately, all his plans of one upping the boot-camp tempered duty nurse had been all for not, his thoughts of retaliation deflating, and turning instead into righteous indignation when upon seeing him, propped up outside the visitors entrance, a whole hour and a half early, lighting a fag purposely right beside the air intake vent that was heavily signed as a non-smoking area, in clear view of the front desk, her face had actually soften, softened! And the barmy old bird had actually let him in a whole ten minutes early. _Women._

He came in that day _without_ his moustache.

He had woken up that morning, and found his fingers halfway through dialling Andy's number to make sure he was up and getting ready for work before his brain caught up with his body.

'_Oh right' _He realized belatedly, slumping back into his pillows with a disgruntled groan as the events of yesterday came rushing back to him burst of high speed, and grainy, old fashioned cinema-like images. _Gun shots, police emergency, Angel, an empty evidence room, dusty Riot gear and hedge hogs, The NWA, murder, even more murders, Frank, epiphanies, gun fights, car chases, knife wielding butcher ninjas, shattering pasta sauce jars, Andy screaming his name, trolleys turned into battering rams, arrests, paper work, flying rubbish bins, Tom fuckin' Weaver, sea mines, explosions, bashed up ribs, gun wounds, hospitals, and..and Andy. _

Bullocks.

For a brief moment he weighed the merits of just staying in bed all day, his ribs throbbing in agreement, vehemently protesting the fact that he had been consistently ignoring the scrunched up paper bag containing the bottle of pain pills they had given him, the bag still stuffed in his jacket which was lying somewhere on the floor beneath the bed.

Eventually he had dragged himself out of bed, rucking up his boxer briefs as he freed his legs from the sheets, idly scratching at a few cuts on his arms that were just beginning to scab over before rummaging around in the bedside drawer for a smoke and a light as he made to head out to the outside balcony, his body already craving it's first nicotine stick of the day.

But halfway there he caught sight of his reflection on the closet door's full length mirror and stopped dead. It wasn't the mass of angry red and purple bruises that were splattered across the span of his chest and ribs, or the way his morning stiffy threatened to push past the elastic band of his undershorts, it was his _moustache. _

And suddenly he was transported back to when he was all of eighteen, Andy only a few years younger, preening like peacocks in the old high school bathroom over their scruffy, teenage-style stubble, both instantly proud of the sparse, but growingly obvious evidence of what had all the indications of growing into a truly spectacular moustache a piece. And predictably, his mind flashed back to the image of Andy laying in the hospital bed, his face clean shaven, and upper lip entirely bare, somehow managing to look about a decade younger then he actually was without it.

And as he stared back at his reflection, his hand coming up to brush across the span of his own moustache he knew without really thinking about it, exactly what he had to do.

And after a considerable span of time in front of the bathroom mirror, a few bleeding razor cuts and about half a bloody can of shaving cream later, the deed was done. He still didn't regret it though, even though he knew from the very moment he wiped away the last bits of shaving cream, the now smooth skin of his upper lip feeling raw, sensitive and shit that he looked like a total wanker, and felt like a bloody girl. His face clean shaven and smooth for what _felt_ like the first time since that moment in front of the bathroom mirror with Andy in high school.

But the look on Andy's face as he strolled in a few hours later, his leather jacket thrown on last minute to ward off the unseasonably late summer chill, moustache free for the first time in over eight years, the mans eyes blown wide with shock and disbelief, and then a strange, muted sort of appreciation that quickly turned to full blown laughter, somehow made it all worth it.

After the laughter faded, despite both of them now being moustache free, their usual, easy going way of conversing quickly set in, the man obviously bored and enthusiastically pleased to have him hanging around.

"We both look like twats." The man remarked first, still chuckling as he rearranged himself on the bed, twitching the covers around his thighs with a notably bored air. His bandage distinctly smaller then the day previous, still spanning the majority of the left side of his face, but no longer covering his eye.

"Oy! Speak for yourself you barmy cock up!" He shot back with a grin, the movement feeling so weird without the distinct brush of hair running across his lower lip that he was half tempted to run for the bathroom to stare at the empty portion of skin across his lip again.

"Get stuffed!" Andy returned easily, grinning right back him with comfortable familiarity, his hair all mussed up from the pillows and glinting in a strange mix of natural chestnut reds and blonds from the early afternoon sun streaming in through the window.

He only snorted in response, rolling his eyes as he edged the same orange chair a fraction of a millimetre closer to the bed.

"Gotta fag?" Andy asked after a moment, looking pathetically hopeful as he tried and entirely failed to look casual as he eyed up the pockets of his old, worn out jeans, looking for any tell-a-tale, cigarette package-sized lumps.

"Notta' allowed in the hospital mate." He replied. "Normally I wouldn't give a flying wank but I reckon that that nurse out there at the desk could give even Lurch a run for his money. You'd probably have a roommate in here in no time flat." He joked lamely. But Andy didn't seem to mind.

"So, whatcha' reckon?" The bedridden man finally asked after a moment of companionable silence, keeping a furtive look out for the nurses as he riffled through his small pile of 'get well' sweets from the team and a few of the grateful citizens of Sandford that were not murdering, gun-toting psychopaths before finally settling on a packet of Wine gums, heroically managing to wince only slightly when the chewy candy proved to be a bit too enthusiastic a choice for his torn up face.

"About what?" He replied, snagged a few candies for himself as he leaned back in the chair again, propping his legs up across the metal railing of the bed, finding the position strangely comfortable on his throbbing ribs.

"Oh you know!" Andy exclaimed, his voice echoing strangely in the empty room, one wildly gesturing hand coming down to swat at his booted toe, eyeing him closely as the hand remained there, resting along the slightly dirty leather sole, his fingertips fiddling with the laces of the shoe as he continued, the weight of the mans hand on him strangely making all the muscles in his leg tense up like an taunt elastic band, until his whole leg threatened to start vibrating or some shit like that.

"About the NWA! Frank! …You know.. everything?" Andy insisted, his voice turning frustrated, with him, like all the rest of them still trying to fully process everything that had happened in the past few days. _It was a tall order to be sure._

But he didn't entirely know what to say to that, the whole situation still seemed like too much to wrap his head around. _He had grown up with those people for Christ sakes!_

He was still pondering on it, zoning out slightly when he suddenly realized that Andy was still talking, missing most of it as his brain scrambled to catch up with conversation.

"--- But he was right though wasn't he? 'Bout everything, 'bout Martin Blower and Eve, Mr Merchant, Tim Messenger, Leslie Tiller, and _bullocks_…even Sergeant Popwell! The poor bastard! …Mind you I always thought that him having a 'nervous breakdown' was a bit odd, remember when I said that eh Andy? I mean, we even 'ad a pint with him the night before, he was all nervous and stressed looking, but it wasn't like he was ready to go all bat shit or anything, right Andy?" The bedridden man babbled, pausing slightly for breath before continuing on his tirade, visibly loosing steam in mid sentence however when the nurse on duty pointedly stuck her head through the half closed door, staring at them both disapprovingly before continuing on with her afternoon rounds.

" …Well, I dunno about all that really, but one thing I do know, was that it felt good to be, I dunno.._real_ detectives again eh?" Andy finished finally, settling back into the pillows a bit, his fingers still playing with the now loose shoe laces of his runners.

"We are _real_ detectives mate." He replied, finally able to get a word in edge wise for the first time in minutes.

"Well, yeah I know that, but auch! I mean, come on! Gun fights, car chases, running around and screaming through the supermarket, ramming the meat counter guys with a load of trolleys..It was like..I don't even know. Proper action and shit.." He responded, his hands gesturing wildly again, narrowly missing smacking him square in the face as he struggled to fully express himself.

But the man shouldn't have bothered, because he felt the exact same way. Despite all the blood, guts, murders, explosions, close calls, and the realization that mass murder had been committed right under their noses…_for years_… yesterday had certainly be something else..

The next day was cold and absolutely pissing rain, a typical English day in all respects really, and as he strode into the hospital, with his ribs already throbbing up a vicious tempo he was about ready to declare the entire day a soddin' write off. But then, just as he was vigorously smacking his head to one side, trying in vain to get the rain water out of his ears, dripping all over the pristine hospital floor, he was almost was immediately flagged down by one of the nurses who for once looked strangely happy to see him, waving a clipboard full of forms and beaming a big, beacon-like smile at him from halfway down the hall.

Baring Andy's release forms and what he knew was a goofily huge grin, he entered the room in a flourish, holding up the mans release forms in a triumphant flutter of paper, just as the man was swinging himself exuberantly out of bed, a change of real clothes folded neatly on the orange chair beside the bed.

"Ready to get the fuck outta here!" He hollered, dumping his sodden leather jacket on the floor with an audible liquidly squelch as he flung the forms in front of the man happily.

"Fuck ya!" Andy called back, beating a hasty tempo all to the way to the little bathroom to change, huffing a laugh and companionably flipping him the bird through the crack of the door in response to his teasing barbs about the man having worn a 'gown' for the past two days, both of them dissolving into loud, rowdy laughter as Andy sent the balled up hospital gown whizzing straight out the door, aiming for his head but missing entirely when he ducked, instead hitting the duty nurse square in the face as she entered the room, a paper cup full of the mans last dose of hospital strength pain pills clutched tightly in her hand.

Needless to say he was pretty sure that the hospital staff were just as glad to see them both walk out the front door as both of them were to leave.

The mood in the car was almost giddy, if two very _manly_, grown up Police detectives could be considered manly. He thought with a wry grin as they sped down the country road, both unanimously deciding to take the long way home to Sandford rather then the main road. Despite the storm that was brewing high up in the clouds above them, and the steady grey drizzle that splattered against the windshield, he found that he just couldn't wipe the stupid grin off his face, especially now that Andy was sitting next to him, the collar of his blue shirt popped up as usual underneath his leather jacket, the window half open and his eyes happily closed, his lips wrapped obscenely around his first fag of freedom much in the same way a starving man would fall to his feet and start stuffing his face when presented with a seven course banquet.

They spent the majority of the ride back into town filling in the gaps of Andy's understandably jumbled up memory of the day of the explosion, as well as the latest town gossip, and of course detailing Danny's steady improvement, remarking on the strangeness of the younger man being transferred to a hospital closer to London, with Angel unsurprisingly accompanying him, leaving Tony temporarily in control of the NWA investigations, much to the newly invigorated mans pleasure of course.

"So, what'd I miss then? I know that can't be all of it." Andy responded sometime later, lighting up his second smoke at the same time he lit up one for him as well, ignoring him entirely when he took a hand off the steeling wheel to take it, the man instead slowly sliding it in between his open lips, the mans fingers charged and electric as they brushed across his lips.

And for a long second he wasn't exactly sure how he had managed to keep the car going in a straight line, the cigarette hanging loosely between his shocked lips. His lips still tingling long after Andy's hand had slipped back down to rest against his splayed thighs.

Coughing a bit and fidgeting in his seat he took a moment to answer him, finally responding with a clipped: "Auch, not much," trying to cover his sudden uncertainty by peering out the window, closely inspecting the wipers blades as they flicked back and forth with a steady rhythmic squeak.

"What was the last thing you properly remember anyway?" He asked after a moment, turning on to a connecting road that would eventually bypass James Reapers farm, wondering idly as he did so about who was looking after the animals now that he and his mother were in jail and awaiting trial, perhaps their cousin Chevin? Or maybe even his sister Mary-Anne and her husband all the way from Cardiff?

"Well I remember when _Nicholarse_ finally met the Turner twins all proper like, after we all drove back to the station house together. Remember he nearly pissed his knickers. Bloody hysterical! Remember how Angel gathered us all into the conference room before we started on all that _bloody_ paper work, and then Evan comes in through the front the same time Owen trudged in from the back! I'll never forget the look on his face! Ach! Bloody priceless!" The other man exclaimed with laughter, head tilting on his shoulders as he looked over at him, flicking the smoking filter of his fag out the open window with barely a glance.

"Took 'im long enough eh!" He responded easily, chuckling himself as he remembered the scene.

"And then, I dunno, everything gets kinda fuzzy after that…" Andy replied, trailing off into silence, his forehead scrunched up as he visibly fought to remember.

To combat the silence he started to fill the man in on everything that had happened after what was quickly being referred to by the others as the 'infamous Turner twin incident', personally he himself had never quite realized that a human jaw could actually drop open that far, had to be a world record or somemat'.

He had only just gotten to the part when Nicholas had actually loosened up enough to tease Doris, shocking and delighting them all to no end when the other man suddenly interrupted, his excitement at remembering clearly visible across his expressive face.

"Hold on! I 'tink I remember 'dat part, didn't you huck a bin at him or somethin'?" He demanded, a grin spreading across his lips as they made the final turn into town.

"Hit 'em square on the head." He responded proudly, grinning right back at him, suddenly caught up in the same emotion that had been abound when the moment had actually happened, his smile going wide and genuine as he recalled the teams laughter.

"He 'aint too bad though eh?" Andy said after a moment, still chuckling slightly as they passed the police cordoned off section of the Crown, the damage from the gun fight clearly visible even as they drove past at a steady pace.

"Ach, bit of a twat though." He replied, slowing the car down slightly to let a gaggle of the local 'hoodies' cross the street, nodding at them as they waved enthusiastically, staring after them both in unquestionably awe as they drove sedately past, each with a fresh fag in hand, sporting their usual leather jackets and brand new pair of aviators a piece.

"Yeah, but then you're a twat too." Andy shot back with a wry grin, twisting eel-like to avoid the smack he rightly deserved as he tried to land a faux punch on the younger man and drive at the same time.

They were nearly halfway through the village before they spoke again, both far too busy taking in the subtle changes that the fire fight between Angel and Danny and the NWA had wrecked upon their small town.

"Well whatcha' wanna do?" He asked, slowing down and stopping at the three way intersection beside Skinner's store, letting a stream of traffic go by as they waited their turn to merge onto the main road.

"Eh?..I dunno…Pub?" The other man responded, likely mostly out of habit as his eyes noticeably drooped, the toll of his injury and likely the strong pain medication the nurse had insisted he take before he left noticeably making it's mark.

"No alcohol for 48 more hours after a concussion mate." He responded easily, wisely choosing not to bring up the fact that the man looked like he was going to conk out any second, grinning back at him as the man made a rude gesture, his lips twisting in something close to a 'manly' pout.

"Ah fuck off, this aint worth the scar man!" Andy muttered crossly, somehow managing to stuff his hands in his leather jacket despite the restricting seat belt, pausing for a few beats before continuing.

"Home I guess, since 'yar gonna go all Nancy boy nurse-maid on me and all." He finished, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

"Sod off!" He shot back, hiding a grin as the man continued to mutter under his breath, taking the next right as they rolled easily into Andy's neighbourhood, pulling up and into the mans driveway only a few minutes later.

"You staying over then?" Andy asked, his voice slightly muffled as he folded his body into the back seat, grabbing a bag of his things from the hospital before he straightened, their eyes meeting across the top if the car.

And he really didn't know what else to do other then to nod, slinging his go-bag over his shoulder, his ribs twanging warningly as he accompanied the man up the stairs and towards Andy's front door.

"Stuffs already 'ere aint it?" He responded, slinging a arm across the man's back companionably, the statement been all but true, as they each generally spent half of the week sleeping over in each others guest bedrooms, having their own section of the fridge and even a tooth brush in each others bathrooms. With a few sets of clothes shoved into in the small set of drawers in the guest bedroom for the times they had a few beer too many to drive, or even for the times that they simply stayed over late and had to make it to work early the next day.

To them, it was really anything but strange, despite unconsciously realising that few friends, even _best_ friends actually lived that way.

It was soon decided upon, once Andy had hurtled himself feet first and pathetically grateful into the shower, the mans appreciative little moans audible all the way to the kitchen as he started ransacking the man's cupboards for something quick and easy to make, that dinner and a movie was in the cards for the evening.

Personally he didn't think the man would make it past the opening credits of whatever movie they ended up picking, but he figured that was moot point anyway.

With both of them fighting over the type of soup, and then the choice of movie until he had enough and had literally shoved the man down into the big, comfortable sofa, and plunking a tray of tomato soup sprinkled with pepper and a few slices of cheese unceremoniously on his lap before crossing to the TV stand and jamming in the first DVD that looked passable into the machine, waiting until the opening menu of "Independence Day" blinked onto the screen before sprawling down on the couch beside him, nursing his own bowl of steaming, tomato soup.

And to the mans credit, he only let out a slightly indignant squawk as the initial shove sent him falling through the air before the squishy couch absorbed his fall, making his whole body bounce for a brief moment as gravity reasserted itself. Andy had generally always been a good sport when it came to the occasional manhandling incident.

He had never seen Andy on painkillers. This was something he quickly realized as the movie progressed and the man took the recommended second dose of pain medication somewhere around the point where the characters played by Will Smith and Jeff Goldblum were prancing around Area 51, just before the government revealed the hidden alien space ship.

The man just became..bendy and shit. _Pliable_ even, which ironically enough, despite the fact that he _was_ indeed currently thinking about it, was not something that he _really_ wanted to dwell too much on. Because when he tended to dwell on the fact that Andy was now sprawled out on the couch beside him, all loose-limbed, too relaxed, and sighing every once and a while in apparent contentment, his body trying to wriggle itself impossibly further into the gushy fabric of the old chesterfield, with each movement the man made seeming to send him leaning unfeasibly closer, until his whole body was tingling and whizzing with awareness. Until he could feel the brush of the mans body as it lined up next it his, Andy's loose shirt sleeves catching slightly across the fabric of his black pull over, and the occasional shock of skin meeting skin.

_It was enough to drive a bloke mental._

But he found that he didn't have much of a choice on the matter either way, because halfway through the movie Andy apparently decided that he made a better armrest then the couch itself and without even a bob's yer' uncle, the younger man settled into the hollow of his shoulder, his head tipping down until it was resting just under his chin, the man's close curls nearly brushing the underside of his chin, overwhelming him with the smell of freshly shampooed hair and the heady, natural, masculine-type scent of him.

And he was _so_ on to him, because this whole concussion and torn up face thing _had_ to be some sort of poly to use him as his own personal human couch. _Stupid Plonker! _Apparently when Andy was drugged up, he had all the subtly of Danny ravishing a particularly large, delicious Cornetto.

_Cheeky fucker._

But for some reason he didn't call him on it. And it wasn't just because the man was as high as a flippin' kite either. Instead he just sat there, even rearranging himself slightly so the man laid more comfortably into his chest, letting his had skim down the span of the mans shoulder and arm, trying to justify the action to himself by making sure the man wasn't catching a chill of somemat'… _Right..a chill…_

Eh, who was he kidding anyway? Everything was turning ass over tea kettle now, everything different since the explosion. Different in a strange way that somehow didn't really feel that different at all; it felt comfortable, desirable and real.

Besides..the man really was rather comfortable anyway, it was like having his own portable space heater.. Perfect for the damp evening, and the blasted chill that came with it. Only the fact was that _this_ was a space heater that somehow smelt like Irish springs, clean skin, the lingering, ghost-like scent of cigarettes and tomato soup, and was an impossibly strange contradiction between softness and muscle. Not soft like a woman..but somehow managing to seem just right..a mix of defined muscle and relaxed flesh.

He sighed deeply at that, peering easily over top the mans slightly curled head, only half watching as Smith and Goldblum stealthily entered the alien mother ship, Goldblum's character preparing to upload the computer virus that would once again see the American's coming out victorious when apparently all you really needed was a ruggedly handsome computer whiz and a wise cracking military space cadet wanna-be with a winning smile and a smoking hot girlfriend.

He was disturbed from his thoughts as Andy yawned hugely, his jaw cracking audibly as his mouth went wide, the sound prompting a little huff of surprise from the man, and a small grin to spread across his lips, arching his head up a bit so they could meet eyes, his lids riding low, making the man look reminiscent of the cat that caught the canary before he settled back into the hollow of his shoulder, attention seemingly fixed on the movie once again.

And if his stomach did a series of impressive, if not ill-timed somersaults at that, well, then he would deny it to the grave.

'_Apparently _deluding oneself was only _truly_ beneficial when you didn't actually realize that you were deluding yourself at all.' He realized, confused and somewhat frustrated as to where all these daft thoughts and… _feelings_ were _suddenly_ coming from.

It was all the stupid gits fault! Going and getting himself all blown and bloodied up like that! It _obviously_ did strange things to the brain, and not only to said _gits_ brain, but apparently his best mate's as well. This was _obviously_ a little know mental condition, it _had_ to be. Because he was starting to think that maybe _his_ head needed one of those fancy pants brain scans or somemat'..

But even as he inertly raged at the events of the last few days in general, he knew at the same time that something was happening, something between them..something that he couldn't entirely understand, something half shadowed and yet at the same time, remaining entirely unseen.

And yet at the same time, it was something that somehow also seemed as though it had been a long time coming, something that was…right, full, steady, and familiar, yet somehow new, strange, and unsettling.

And now…now _he just didn't know what to do anymore.._

As for the first time in many, many years, he found that he couldn't figure it out, or control it. He couldn't understand the feeling, determine its purpose or even assign blame for it any more then he found that he could deny this…_thing_ between them now, since the NWA and the explosion. Nor indeed deny the fact that it _didn't_ scare the holy shit right out of him.

Because now he seemed hyper aware of the man, of his every movement, heart beat, breath and sound. _It wasn't right_, but yet, it felt _so utterly and entirely was right _at the same time.

And he just couldn't figure out that why it was _now_, after decades of friendship, that he was suddenly just so…_aware_ of him.. feeling every inch of him pressed up against him, sensing the rough slide of the fabric that rubbed along his thigh, the feel of the mans jeans against his own. He could sensing everything..every detail, every hitch in his breathing.. even the weird way he was holding himself, even as sprawled and limp as he was, there was a strange tension vibrating up from the mans lower back, as if he to was holding something back, as if he too was tense, caught up in the same sort of dilemma as he was.

Or.. had it _always_ been like this?...Had _they_ always been like this? Had it always been like this and he had never really let himself notice? _For fucks sakes, _but he had the growing feeling that it was. They _had_ always been like this.

They were always together and rarely apart, generally preferring the company of each other over anyone else, even the ladies. They went home with each other to visit both pairs of their parents on the odd weekend, driving up together into the more rural portion of Sandford, each having a long standing and permanent spot at both family tables, a by-product of a long childhood spent perpetually together.

_Hell,_ even when he, being a few years Andy's senior, had first moved out on his own, getting his first bachelor pad, a crummy little place that had smelled like mildew and leaked in the spring, but was much closer to the village, it had just been _assumed_ that Andy, despite being barely eighteen at the time would move from home as well, and they had shared that apartment together right up until they both had to move to a different city a few hundred miles away to attend the closest Police Academy.

They finished each others sentences; and lived more together then they did alone, despite both of them now having their own pads. _Lord_… they even talked at the same time, kipping on each others couches, stealing each others clothes, smokes, and beers without a guilty thought on either side. They knew each others moods as well as they did their own, knowing instinctively when to joke and laugh, when to be angry, pissed off, or even silent. Hell, sometimes they even knew without being in the same room as the other when one of them needed a wingman to chase some tail with, or to force some asshole on the street or in the pub to back the fuck off. They protected each other, always conscious of where the other was, or when they would be back from somewhere. _Corr, _they even rang each other more often then they did their lady friends, if they even had one at the time.

Some friends borrowed a cup of sugar or a few table spoons of yeast; _they_ used each others house keys and 'borrowed' half a fridge full of leftovers or decided that spending the evening in the others home watching bootlegged cable porn was preferable to doing the same at their own house. In fact he didn't know how many times he had come home late from somewhere or another to find Andy camped out on his couch, hailing him with a simple: "Hullo Andy", as he reached down beside him and cracked him open a still cold beer…or indeed visa-versa.

They caught each others colds, and even got mono together in their first year at the academy at the exact same time, both ending up slumped together on the couch of their flat for over week, far too lethargic and miserable to respect the normal rules of manly behaviour as though fought to keep their eyes open for longer then two hours at a bloody time.

They watched the same flicks, and always favoured the same type of bird when they _were_ out for a good lay, usually gravitating towards the more voluptuous brunettes and redheads, each of them appreciating a woman with a pretty face and a good figure, but with the curves, a nice pair of knockers, and a generous ass to match. And really, up until now he had never really thought it strange that Andy always went for the stark, straight haired brunettes that caught their eye, while he tended to favour the wavy, red haired chestnuts, especially if there was a tint of blond to them.

_Except that NOW_ _he did, and the connotations of it all was just a bit too mind boggling._

They had both sneered at authority as little snot nosed wankers, running around from the town to the country side, causing mayhem and mischief whenever it struck their fancy, having their fair share of run-ins with Bob and even Frank down at the station as they had grown up, thumbing their noses at the law with all their teenage cynicism false bravo, and yet both of them had ironically grown up and devoted their careers to upholding it, being authorities of the law and what not.

'_Weird how things tend to turn out..'_ He pondered, shaking his head after a moment as something suddenly occurred to him. '_It was weird, now that he thought about it, about why they hadn't been done away with by the NWA and Frank in their more youthful and somewhat delinquent teenage years…'_ He thought, mentally reviewing all their childhood pranks and petty indiscretions…people had apparently been 'offed in Sandford for much less.. Or so they had unfortunately come to learn throughout the past few days.

But despite that rather worrisome thought, the crux of his more current, personal predicament refused to leave his mind, his brain flipping through their years of friendship and pausing on each little individual thing they shared almost like it was flipping through the pages of some daft form of a mental photo album..with each picture revealing something further between them that he had never really thought twice about before.

They had shared their first pint together, fuck, even their first fag! Having both skipped class to sneak out behind the humanities portables in their eleventh year, feeling totally badass, and as daring as hell for having nicked half a pack off his older cousin Tommas, who had been up visiting for the weekend from the city. He even remembered how it had been a joint effort in getting the damn thing lit in the first place, with the winter wind, and their over excitement over the skinny little cancer sticks hampering their efforts until Andy had managed to cup a hand around the end, finally getting the thin little match to catch flame. He remembered clearly how the winter chill had seeped into his bones, and how that first puff of tar-like smoke, as gross and as cough educing as it had been, had brought a little thrill of warmth to his bones, warm almost in the same way Andy's fingers had seemed when their hands had brushed together slightly each time they had passed the shared cigarette over.

He remembered how strange, and even damn near depressing it had been without Andy when for the first time in both their lives they found themselves suddenly bereft of each other. As for the last three months during their Police academy training, in _his _graduating year, his level had been shipped off unexpectedly to Ireland for some new sort of inter-country, urban pacification tosh.

And he couldn't even argue the fact that it had been the single most miserable period of his entire life, even more so when Tanya, Doris's gorgeous elder sister had broken up with him cold and entirely out of the fucking blue in the middle of a crowded night at the Crown for some rich bloke over Beaufort Abbey after a steady three year relationship during his late twenties.

And during those three months, he knew that Andy had felt the exact same way. They had talked on the phone, virtually for hours nearly everyday, complaining and bitching about the separation right up until the day his plane had finally landed back in London, with Andy surprising him by driving the whole eight hour trek up to the big city just to wait in the airport to greet him, standing at least four inches taller and a stone's worth more of muscle on him as he had pulled him into a gruff, but exuberant bear hug that had lasted just a few beats too long to be wholly considered as a purely friendly gesture.

_But of course…he hadn't noticed anything different..because really, that WASN'T anything different for them._

Which of course was basically the main point of this whole mess. Oy.

…Damn he did he need a drag!

Sighing deeply, he let out a slightly pained grunt as the exaggerated movement jostled his smarting ribs. Causing him to curl into himself slightly, trying to ease the now sharply throbbing tempo from his aggravated ribcage.

"Alright there Andy?" The half-awake man asked, his voice slightly muffled from where it was pressing up somewhere around the vicinity of his left armpit. The man's breath tingling up his skin through the thin sweater, heating up the odd patch of skin as it coursed down his neck and chest.

"Eh, fine. Me ribs just got knocked around a bit is all." He responded easily, shifting slightly as the man's back suddenly stiffened against him.

"Wha! You never said nothin' about that!" Andy exclaimed, sounding more awake then he had been since he had folded himself out of the car earlier that evening.

"It's nothing mate. Leave off on it already." He replied, slightly put out by the sharp tone that had slipped into Andy's voice.

But of course Andy ignored him, making some vague grumbling noises, as he arched up against his chest, sounding like a daft mother hen as he fumbled around for something on the side table, cursing soundly as he sent a few empty beer cans clinking metallically off the table before, rather inexplicability, he had fished out the bottle of pain pills from crumpled bag yet he hadn't opened since the nurse shoved him through the door the first day that Andy had been in the hospital, plonking them right in his lap without a word, giving him a pointed stare before turning his attention back to the telly.

_How the man even knew about the pills at all remained a mystery to him, the man hadn't even been awake at that point for Christ sakes!_

However, for the first time since the explosion, he finally gave in, flicking off the pill lid with an echoing pop as he took the pills dry, and pretended not to notice when the throbbing in his ribs noticeably eased. _Bastard_.

And so, like any other _normal_ night, the evening continued on in that way. Both of them watching as Will Smith and Jeff Goldbum kicked alien ass, zipping around through the inside of the mother ship, avoiding alien ships, and the fast closing bay doors by only the skin of their teeth, each of them at the same time, automatically mimicking Goldblum's awesome Elvis catch phrase, identical boyish grins on their faces as the massive, super nova of an explosion built up behind the fleeing craft.

However, it wasn't until the younger man had started to snore softly against the soft fabric of his sweater, just as they had gotten to the big romantic scene near the end as Smith and Goldblum swaggered into view out of a cloud of sand, smoke, and dust, all manly and courageous as they strode across the sand, a victory cigar and a grin on both their lips, that he realized that Andy had actually fallen asleep on him.

'_Those pills must really pack a punch…'_ He thought admiringly, craning his neck downward slightly to take in the mans relaxed face, unable to stop himself as his hand dipped down to smooth a bit of tape from the bandage back down over the mans cheek, startling away suddenly as his hand brushed along the mans naked cheek.

For a few moments he just sat there, not entirely sure what to do, while he was at loath to actually wake the man, he also knew it wouldn't do him much good to spend the night half propped up on the couch either. However, what really sealed the deal was when his own ribs twanged warningly; apparently a night on the couch wasn't in the cards for him either.

He wasn't exactly sure how, but eventually he managed to coerce the not entirely awake man off the couch, one arm going around the man's shoulders as they stumbled towards the hall. Indeed Andy didn't even comment when he slipped a supporting arm around his waist, telling himself that it was a precaution against the man taking out the good side of his face on the banister. In fact, if anything, the man leaned to him further, until he was literally plastered up against his side.

"Hell of a day, eh?" The man commented softly, his words slow and lilting, all sleep slurred and thick, his accent heavy and perfect as they approached the staircase that until that very moment had never looked more intimidating as he realized somewhat belatedly that he _somehow_ had to drag the half conscious man up it.

_Bullocks._

After a few moments of quick manoeuvring, and a few pointed words to the rather limp man his arms, they were halfway up the stairs when he realized that he might have erred slightly. _Gravity, as it turned out was a nefarious, loose legged bitch that was giving out vastly misleading signals._

"For fucks sakes!" He cursed hotly, grunting slightly as his hand clawed at the railing for a brief moment, regaining their balance, _no thanks to Andy of course, _and scrambling around to steady his grip around the other man, bringing him flush against his hip and groin…_Completely by accident 'o course.._

'_Shite, shite, shite!.' _He groaned internally, cursing himself resignedly as an annoying little voice in the back of his head choose that precise moment to start getting smart with him.

But he found that he couldn't quite complete squash the inner voice that was currently dancing a jig and singing brazenly on top of a metaphorical bar table in his brain, adding new verses as each moment past to some sort of rhyme that held the repeated chorus of what sounded suspiciously like "_I told you so."_

Especially after he reaffirmed his grip in the man, his hand sliding down to grasp Andy's hip, trying to encourage the man up yet another winding set of stairs just as the mans shirt rode up, and his big palm accidentally slid straight down so he was now cupping a handful of the man's narrow hip, his finger tips somehow getting tangled up in the waistband of the mans jeans and dipping slightly underneath it.

And fuck him seven ways to Sunday, but he didn't move it. He _couldn't_, he could hardly even _breathe_ for fucks sakes!

But not matter how he tried to justify it to himself to it, his explanations always seemed to short circuit somewhere in between the pale, noticeably visible curve of where Andy's side met with his waist, and how his jeans were still riding low on his hips as the crested the final stair to the second floor, revealing the signature black tops of a pair of Calvin Klein boxer briefs.

Something which by the way, when he finally got his brain back in order, that he silently pledged he would tease the man unmercifully about. Designer knickers? What a load of tosh!

He visibly breathed a sigh of relief as he finally steered them into the mans bedroom, breathing in the familiar, Andy-like scent of the place that seemed to perpetually permeate the room.

"Oy man, we made it!" He muttered somewhat triumphantly, feeling absolutely knackered himself as he moved another few measured steps into the mans room, with Andy still hanging off him like a particularly affectionate limpet.

However the man made no move to pull away, or even sway closer towards his inviting looking queen sized bed, the covers still rumpled and pulled back from where he had obviously tossed himself out bed a few days earlier. Instead he just stood there, or rather, _leaned_ there, his head arching up slightly so that their eyes met, one of his eyebrows arching up slightly.

It was almost as if the man was waiting for his lead or something, his eyes big and doe-eyed, blinking around slowly as another powerful yawn racked his frame.

Slightly flummoxed, he kinda just…_stood_ there too, still half supporting the mans weight in his arms, the span of the mans back and hips growing heated against him as he began to get the strange, growing feeling that he was missing something hugely important that was right in front of him.

Indeed he was so deep in thought, desperately trying to figure out that why all of a sudden the four walls of the spacious, airy bedroom had suddenly turned close and suffocating, or why his skin was all but buzzing, and that the little hairs on his arms and the back of his neck slowly starting to rise, that when Andy's voice suddenly resounded through the empty room, his voice a low, rumbling baritone, that he nearly dropped him in surprise.

"Andy?" The sleepy man questioned, the word sounding more like a noun then a name as he suddenly straightened, the mans body seeming to slide up along the length of him as he slowly..so slowly pulled away.

"…Yeah?" He responded, his tongue almost knotting itself together with the effort it took to push the word out of his suddenly parched throat, his heart starting to hammer so loud in his chest that he could hear the echo coursing up through his temples. He was unable to look away…or even to think about collecting his shattered dignity and making tracks for the door, as the man, as cool as you please, began to slowly unbutton his shirt, not even turning away to do it either.. Instead looking all too relaxed when he caught his eye, the third button popping out of the hole easily with a single deft movement of the man's scratched up thumb.

"Come to bed." He said simply. _Simply, like as if you know, stripping and then getting into bed with your best mate while there was a perfectly good guest room down the hall could be considered 'simple'._

"Andy…What!" He nearly gasped, half wondering if he hadn't just hallucinated the whole thing, something that indeed sounded far more plausible at the moment then reality.

"Come to bed." He repeated, shrugging out of his shirt completely, letting it lay where it fell on the floor by his feet, standing there, half naked in the light from the hallway, his hands digging into his pockets curiously as he dumped a bunch of spare change into a somewhat clean looking ashtray perched precariously atop his alarm clock on the night stand.

"I am." He finally responded, swallowing audibly as he watched the play of the man's muscles as they bunched and corded from his shoulders down to his stomach as he made to unhook his belt.

"I am going to mate, after…after you're all settled in eh." He continued, unable to tear himself away from watching the individual progress of each belt loop as the man slowly yanked off what he was pretty sure was actually a leather torture device that held the sole purpose of driving him progressively more and more bonkers.

"No you arse." The man's voice slightly muffled as he spoke half into a pillow, having all but fallen into the bed with only his jeans on, sedately toeing his socks off as he spread out across the span of the bed, wriggling about in apparently bliss as his limbs dug into the thick covers.

"I mean _come to bed_." He finished firmly, turning his head to look at him, an expression on his face that he didn't quite recognize as one of his hands came up to slap at the empty space at his side meaningfully, his hand bouncing slightly as it met with the criminally soft looking, navy blue duvet.

The silence in the room was palpable, thick, and absolutely deafening for close to thirty heart stopping, age-long seconds.

But really..when it came down to it, what else could he really say, other then a soft, barely discernable whisper of: "Oh…Alright.."

The man had only smiled at him, his eyes dancing and bright, face awash with that same emotion that he could quite figure out. And he had felt those eyes still on him as he twirled on his heel and tried desperately not to look like he was fleeing as he made for the bathroom to get ready. An image that was entirely ruined by the decidedly brisk pace of his steps, and the way his palms were so damned sweaty that it took close to ten seconds for him to properly grip and turn the _god damn door knob_.

'_Smooth Andy, real smooth. What is this? High school?' _He thought, settling on a disbelieving snort, but not entirely sure what he should be thinking or even feeling as he swiftly closed the door behind him, fighting a startled peep of noise from exploding out of his throat when through a sliver of the closing door he caught sight of the man sliding his jeans clear off, revealing a muscular pair of pale, hair speckled thighs for all the world to see.

And he told himself, as he slumped against the thin wooden door, his head thumping audibly against the white washed wood, that he hadn't really needed to see that. Unfortunately, neither his brain, body, nor that small little portion of his chest that was still thudding along in an echoing, stuttering tempo against his ribcage, agreed with him.

_And damn it all to hell...But he had been a blind, bloody fool.._

Finally, after taking an unordinary long time in the bathroom, mostly just staring at his reflection in the toothpaste flecked mirror, having long since changed into an old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, he finally realized that the next move was his, knowing, once he had collected himself, without Andy having to really tell him, that while the younger man had set the board, the movement of the first piece was up to him…however it was that he decided to play it..

And he wanted so much not to arse this _thing _up…or whatever it was that had suddenly turned his entire soddin' life upside down and inside out. But yet he didn't have the first clue as to how he should go about it. About what he _should do_, or what he _should say_…He had never felt so utterly and completely clueless in his entire bloody life, and he didn't like it! He was getting bloody well tired of it in fact!

So, with frustration and something near defiance fuelling his veins, he finally collected his balls, and quieted his mind, willing his roiling, fluttering stomach into submission as he shook himself one, twice, before he clicked open the door.

He paused for a moment in the door frame, letting his eyes adjust to the soft light as he took in the unmoving Andy-sized lump under the blankets as he padded back into the bedroom, softly switching off the bedside lamp so that only the muted glow of the night light in the hall lit his way back to the bed.

He could tell that Andy was watching him, he knew because he could feel it, he could feel the heat behind the mans eyes from clear across the room. He could tell, because he knew by the way the man's head was cocked on the pillow, positions just so, that his blue eyes could take in his every movement unhampered by the annoying bandage.

The duvet was pulled up to the sleepy man's mid arm, and yet somehow flicked over to mark the empty space that was waiting for him, the bed honestly looking more comfortable then anything he had ever seen in his life, with even the soft mattress under his hands feeling like a siren song all to it'self.

After a moment of indecision he paused before climbing in, hovering over the bed before he too slipped off his ratty old academy t-shirt when he realized that Andy wasn't wearing one, suppressing a shiver as his bare skin met with the chilly air. After all, he certainly didn't want to appear as though _he_ was the awkward one.

'_The drugged appeared to be leading the blind and stupid_ it _would seem. This was obviously going to end well.'_ He thought sarcastically.

But never in a million years did he ever think that he would actually be able to sleep, he thought they would just lay there, awkward, and stagnant, both of them all too aware of the small strip of space that marked the virtual no-mans land between them, ending up riding the edges of their respective sides until one of them assed up and embarrassed themselves by falling right out of bed.

However, as he gingerly slipped into bed, the smell of the man rising, flowing over him like the smooth, blanketing comfort of Andy's plush duvet, he found he barely had the time to answer Andy's sleepy "G'night," before he slipped into the easiest, and most comfortable sleep he had had since the explosion, with the last thing that registered in his mind as his eyes slid inexorably closed, was of the light, reassuring presence of the man next to him, and the steady, rhythmic sound of his breathing as it lulled him off to sleep.

When he woke up the next morning, unaccustomedly warm and pressed flush up against something alive and breathing, something that both felt and smelled very much like a man, he found that while he wasn't quite sure what to necessarily _do_ about it, he was also not entirely that _surprised_ either.

For a moment he remained stock still, his body stiffening despite himself as he realized what had happened. '_So much for no mans land..'_ He thought sarcastically, lifting his head up slightly so he could look down on them both. They were a tangled, mismatched jumbled of flesh, limbs, and bed covers, pressed so close together, that in some places, by just looking, it was hard to tell where one of them began, and the other ended

Sometime during the night they had just simply.. _gravitated_ towards each other. With Andy now pulled into the curve of his body, so that they were now chest to chest, the mans warm breath tickling at the base of his shoulder, their thighs and legs tangled up together so that he could feel the slight prickle of the mans leg hair as they brushed against his own.

Even his own arms had apparently done their own unique form of talking, as somewhere during the night they had fastened around the mans hip, the fingers of one hand splayed half on his thigh and half across the mans arse.

But he didn't move, he didn't move because somehow..in some strange coincidence that even he didn't even want to begin fathoming, Andy's own arm and hand were in the exact same place, and in the same position as his, his fingers pressed possessively across his skin.

And also..because of the simple, and slightly unsurprising fact that he somehow implicitly knew, that just like the hard press of flesh that was digging into his lower stomach, evidence of the other mans growing arousal, that his own dick was just as hard, pressing deliciously into the crease between the other man's leg and hip.

And because he knew that if he moved, even if it was by the slightest millimetre, or even one more bloody inch, causing just a single brush of skin between them, he _knew _that it would be all over, that he'd just lose it, that he would reveal everything, and show him _everything_ that he had, _everything _that had remained hidden between them for so long. And..and he just didn't think he could handle it if he turned out to be wrong…that Andy _didn't_ want _this_, didn't want _him._ He _knew_ he wouldn't be able to take it, and he would end up like Frank and all those other fucked up crazies, driven insane by feelings of misplaced emotion, lost love or something equally as messed up. _And he wouldn't have Andy._

So he just laid there, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and just concentrating on breathing, on trying to distinguish the growing red haze of the coming afternoon through his thin lids, waiting until he could string a few coherent thoughts together before he made to gently disentangle himself from the slumbering man.

But Andy wasn't asleep, because just as he started to retract his arm from the man's hip, flexing his fingers instinctively as they lifted up from the warm, Andy-smelling skin, the man around him shifted. His blue eyes clear, fierce, and so far from tired that if this had been any other situation he would have asked how long the man had actually been awake for.

"Don't." He said, his voice somehow managing to sound determined, unsure, and desperate all at once, making him stopped in his tracks, his arm freezing to hover in mid air above the mans hip, his heart thrumming a dangerously fast tempo in spite of their relaxed position.

And then, in a moment of rare clarity, much like the moment in his own apartment the day earlier, when he had realized implicitly what he had to do, and had fished through his bathroom cupboards for his rarely used razor and shaving cream, that while he didn't know exactly what to do, he at least knew how to start…

And after a few harrowing seconds he lowered his arm back down so it once again rested over the subtle curve of the mans hip, pressing his big palm wide and digging his fingers into Andy's skin, pulling the man in closer until he was flush against his chest, the movement eliciting a hiss of surprised pleasure from the both of them as their cocks brushed and ground together, the simple touch leaving them both momentarily gasping, hips arching automatically as their bodies craved more.

"..Ah..Andy?" The man questioned, his voice hitching slightly as he arched up in his grip until their faces were level, finally fully meeting the soft gaze of the man pressed up against him, his big, doe-like eyes blinking hugely back at him, his face mere inches from his own, pink lips slightly parted. As if he too wasn't entirely sure what to do next.

But suddenly, that was okay, _it was all okay_, because while he figured that both of them really had next to no clue about what they were doing, he just _knew _that despite it all, they would do what they had always done all throughout their lives when face with a challenge, they would buckle down, sometimes using their brains, but more often then not also using their smart mouths and bodies…_figuring it out together_.

And hell, perhaps lady luck wasn't such a sloppin' salt-encrusted cunt after all, because it appeared as though Andy suddenly gained the ability to read minds, as before he could even think to pull his metaphorical thumb out of his ass and grab the man, Andy was already nibbling at his neck, fingers trailing and sliding down his chest, using his teeth, lips, and tongue to pull what promised to be the first of many a half strangled moans from his throat, his eyes blowing wide as the man nipped at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, the sensation jolting straight down to his dick as he suddenly reared up, catching Andy by surprise as he rolled them across the bed, coming to settle over top him, the duvet having long since slid off their tangled, wrestling forms, and leaving them naked against each other, their skin slowly starting to warm in the soft glow of sun as it filtered through the curtains in a streaming rectangle of sunlight, with all traces of the pouring rain and the chill from yesterday seeming to have been absorbed by the wholesome heat of the sun.

It was around that point that he stopped thinking entirely. Because for the first time in days there was no indecision, no confusion, hesitancy or even second guessing himself as he leaned down from his spot atop the man, his fingers finally.. _oh god, finally_ sinking into those soft, fawn coloured curls, one hand trailing down his unmarred right cheek, heatedly tracing the contours of his chin and jaw before he pulled Andy's yielding body impossibly further into his own, and kissed him square on the lips.

And indeed, the thought only occurred to him a considerable amount of time later, when the sun was near to setting outside the window, and they were _still_ tangled together in a human jigsaw puzzle of limbs and slippery skin, their hair sticking up in messy, sweat spiked tufts, the covers long since kicked clear off the bed, leaving them with only the warmth of each others bodies, both far too lazy to lean down and reclaim the abandoned duvet. That it occurred to him just as he was nearly asleep, Andy already snoring softly beside him, his back moulded up along the length of his chest, both of them sticky, sweaty and sated, that he realized that he could hardly wait for both of their moustaches to grow back in again so he could go and kiss the man _properly!_


End file.
